Whispers of the Imagination
by UsayImaDreamer
Summary: Bella Swan becomes a personal assistant to Edward Cullen, a bestselling author who is suffering from a bout of writer's block. But does he really have writer's block? And what can Bella do to help him?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight, including the characters I'm lucky enough to play with.**

**Note: This is my first AH. Maybe it's been done before, but thank you for giving this a chance!  
**

The hung on the white wall behind my head ticked on softly as I tapped my foot anxiously against the plush carpet. I glanced up at it, reassuring myself that I had indeed arrived ten minutes early and was now sitting here, twenty minutes later, still waiting. The clock was ornate, with curling leaves of wrought iron wrapping around its curves. I glanced once more at the elaborate detailing along the edges of the receptionist's desk, back down at the thick, lush carpet, and wondered why the waiting room felt so grand.

"Ms. Swan?" The receptionist said my name softly, probably because, despite the grandness of the room, it was quite small and I was only feet away. I jumped to my feet anyway, startled at the sound of her voice breaking the silence.

"Yes?" I flattened my palms against the front of my skirt, smoothing out the cheap material as best I could.

The receptionist, Rosalie, was gorgeous. She had blonde hair that curled over her shoulders and bounced with every minute movement of her head. Her smile revealed perfect rows of brilliantly white, straight teeth, framed by deep red lips. I felt intimidated standing before her in my JCPenny's dress skirt and blouse, and found myself wondering if she could see right through me.

She tilted her head towards the door to her right. "You can go in now," she said, the intimidating grin turning to one of smug satisfaction.

Yes, she could see right through me. I never felt smaller or cheaper than as I walked towards the door and pulled on the handle with a shaky hand.

As I stepped inside the long office, I found it difficult to breathe. The heavy door groaned shut behind me and I paused. Another elaborate desk sat at the far side of the office, with brilliant sunlight filtering in through the windows behind it. The sun stretched the length of room and shadowed the person sitting in the straight-backed chair behind the desk.

"You may come in."

My feet moved slowly across the office as I stepped further into the sunlight. It was not what I was expecting, at all. Instead of the deep, rich voice I had imagined of his, it was higher, sweet voice.

It wasn't Edward Cullen sitting in this chair, I realized, frowning as I came to a stop before the desk. A tiny woman sat in the large chair, her short black hair swept to the side by a shining clip and a suit that looked just as expensive as the clock in the waiting room.

"Isabella?" she asked, glancing up from the sheaf of papers she had been shuffling.

"Bella," I corrected, speaking for the first time since arriving at the Cullen office.

She smiled then, a smile much kinder than the receptionist's, and I felt warm enough to smile back. "I know I'm not what you were expecting," she said. She motioned for me to sit in the leather seat before the desk.

I slid into it and folded my hands into my lap, holding onto them and hoping she wouldn't notice how badly they were shaking. "No," I answered honestly. "Not really."

"I'm Alice Cullen," she said, pushing her papers aside and focusing her attention on me. "Edward is my brother," she explained. I nodded but did not speak, opting to chew on my lower lip instead of saying something possibly ridiculous. "I act as his literary agent," she continued when I did not speak. She gestured around at the office and the papers before her. "A lot comes along with being a New York Times bestselling author. Acquisitions, propositions, _Hollywood_," she said, grinning as she spoke. I could practically feel the pride beaming from her and I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. "There's a lot to keep track of."

I nodded again, not sure where I came in. It was only last week that I had received a call from this office. It had been Rosalie who had called, asking me if I would come in for an interview with Mr. Cullen as he was in need of an assistant. I hadn't thought to ask how they _knew_ I was recently unemployed. I had been working as an office manager at my father's police station up until hours before their call, but I had done one too many misfilings for Charlie's allowance.

With no other options or direction, I accepted the interview. Well, that and the fact that I owned every single book Edward Cullen had ever written. And that I had probably read each of them five or six times.

Sitting in the office now, listening to Alice explain all that was involved with Mr. Cullen, I felt my palms begin to sweat. I was not nearly qualified or presentable enough to be his assistant.

Alice, sensing my nerves perhaps, smiled at me again. "I'm going to be honest with you Bella," she said, leaning forward and folding her tiny hands on top of the desk. "My brother has never had need of a personal assistant before. I've always managed to take care of business side of things and he," she paused, sighing. "He was always good at managing the creative part of it. But he's… well he's encountering a bit of a block."

I found myself nodding again and Alice stared at me. I realized I should probably say _something_ before she came to the conclusion that I was a complete head case. I cleared my throat slightly, embarrassed by the heavy noises I made as I went to speak. "It _has_ been a while since his last book," I said, trying to remember the last book of his I purchased.

Alice nodded, a grim smile of acknowledgement on her face. "Three years," she said sorely. "He claims he's been busy, writing the next novel, but… three years is too long for me not to worry anymore."

"I don't understand how having me as his personal assistant will help," I said unsurely. What possible help could I provide a writer struggling with writer's block? I considered myself to be a writer, unpublished of course, but a writer nonetheless.

"He just needs organization Bella. Some prodding, some inspiration perhaps," Alice explained. I felt the heat in my cheeks again and stared down at my hands folded in my lap. What kind of inspiration could _I_ ever provide? If Mr. Cullen sought inspiration, perhaps Alice should send him Rosalie.

"I truly appreciate you calling me in for an interview…"

"Alice," she said, a satisfied smile back on her face.

"Alice," I said. "But I really don't think I'm the right one for the job. I've never been a _personal_ assistant before-"

"But you have excellent experience and references Bella. Please," she asked, her eyes taking on a darker quality which contrasted highly against the sun behind her. "Please, give him one week. I promise it will be _well worth_ your time," she said, glancing down at my stringy blouse.

I should have felt insulted, or at the very least uncomfortable with her appraisal. But I knew she was right. I sighed, mentally running through my other options for income and found myself coming up with none. Alice waited patiently, the smile still on her face but the plea still apparent in her eyes.

I shifted awkwardly and met her gaze. "I guess I can try it, for a week."

Alice was already grabbing a folder from the side of her desk and sliding it across to me. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. I reached over and pulled the smooth leather folder off the desk and held it in my hands. It felt heavy despite its thinness and I gave Alice a look. She was already sliding a piece of paper across at me, a contract by the looks of the tiny print. "I'll need to have you sign this confidentiality agreement first," she said, handing a silver pen to me.

I took it cautiously, eyeing the several lines of tiny print, wondering if I wasn't signing my life away to something unknown cause. She laughed as I took the pen, pressing the tip hesitantly to the page.

"It's a typical agreement," she said as I signed my name. "Between all public figures and their assistants, I promise you."

I felt no less relieved as I set the pen down and Alice slid the contract into case on her desk and locked it shut.

She nodded at my folder. "His address is listed on the front page. That folder contains everything you _should_ need to know to assist him," she explained. She waved her hands as she covered the bases. "Likes, dislikes, preferences… on _everything_." She gave me a stern look. "Edward is _very_ particular. Please understand that," she pressed.

"I worked for my father for four years," I said with a knowing smile. "I think I can understand particularity."

Alice's expression showed that she didn't quite believe me but I didn't press it. I would show her, I thought.

"Excellent then," she said. "It's settled. You'll meet him at 9am on Monday morning then."

I nodded again and she stared, again. I realized this was my cue to leave. "Thank you," I said to Alice. She didn't say anything else as I walked back down the long office and pulled on the heavy door towards the waiting room.

As I cradled the leather folder to pull open the door back to reality, I heard Rosalie sniff slightly from her desk. Not a tissue-sniff, or even a sniff of sadness, but of arrogance. "Good luck honey," she muttered as I stepped out of the office.

_Good luck._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Twilight and all its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

**Note: THANK YOU to everyone who read/reviewed my first chapter. I was nervous posting this b/c I've never written AH before. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.  
**

"What do you mean you already found another job?" Charlie's voice sounded far from understanding when I spoke to him on the phone Sunday night. I cradled the phone against my ear as I absentmindedly flipped through the documents in the leather folder Alice had given me. "You're just going to abandon the station, huh? Get a job in the big city?"

Irritation sparked my bitter tone as I responded. "You were fine without me last week," I explained hastily. "And you fired _me_, remember? Listen, Dad, you know I love you I just… I need to try something different."

He was quiet for a moment while I scanned the page detailing the things Mr. Cullen preferred for breakfast. I vaguely wondered if I could pick up apple and cinnamon oatmeal on the way from the train station to his loft. Charlie cleared his throat as if to remind me that I was on the phone with _him_.

"Look Dad, I'm not backing down on this. I'm sorry." Whether or not the Cullen job worked out, I couldn't go back to working at the station. Any more time in that close of vicinity with my father, I would go insane.

He sighed, resigned, and I knew he would get over it. "I know Bells," he mumbled. "I know."

"You still want me to come over for dinner tomorrow night?" I asked. It was a silly question to ask, actually. If I went over to Charlie's, I knew _I _would be the one making dinner, but that was ok. Even though I didn't live with him anymore, I still liked taking care of him. He _was_ my father after all.

"I, uh, I actually have plans for tomorrow night," he said quickly. I felt suspicious, not just from the tone in his voice, but because Charlie never made plans and called them plans. The only "plans" he ever had was the lake on the weekends with his friend Billy.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, pushing the folder of meal requirements aside for the moment. "With who?"

"Listen Bells, it's late and I have to be into the station early tomorrow. _Some of us_ have to start early." He was avoiding my question and I couldn't help but smile. _Ok Charlie, be sneaky_.

"Sure dad. I love you."

"Goodnight."

* * *

I knew I should have grabbed my umbrella when I left my apartment the next morning. The sun was rising bright in the sky but I had that feeling, which I ignored because if I ran back inside, I'd miss my train.

But sure enough, as I exited the coffee shop that was between the train station and Mr. Cullen's loft, the sun had been swallowed up whole by dark, menacing clouds. "Shit," I mumbled as soon as the first big drops began to fall.

I cradled the bag with the hot oatmeal to my chest, tucking it beneath my sweater as I hurried the last few blocks on my heels. By the time I made it to his building and punched in the code for the door to buzz, my sweater was soaked and my hair was just a flat bun of water. I slipped across the empty foyer, hardly noticing how sparse the first floor was. A pair of elevators was set against the back wall and I stepped in, pressing the button to take me to the penthouse.

As the lift began to climb, I set the damp bag down and attempted to wring out my sweater. _Great_, I thought, looking at the ground. A puddle had formed around my feet and began to seep into the bag.

"Shit, shit, _shit_!" I cried, rescuing the bag from further damage. The elevator dinged at that moment and the doors slid open silently. I hesitated, fully aware of how ridiculous I looked here, the damp paper bag clutched against my chest, my haggard appearance, and the puddle at my feet.

I don't know what I was expecting as I stepped off the lift; if I had been expecting to see him standing there, waiting for me, then I was sorely mistaken. The front foyer echoed the detailing of his office. Everything was lined with dark mahogany, the carpet was a deep, plush shade of cream, and even the molding had an exact pattern to it. I hesitated, wondering how best to proceed.

"Please, come in."

_Ah_, there it was. The deep velvet voice I had expected on Friday called from the shadowed passage to the right. I found my feet moving before my mind could really process anything. The dark hall led to an open, bright doorway, and I blinked hard as I entered. I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the flood of sunlight in the room.

"Hello. You must be Isabella."

His voice called to me again and I turned my gaze from the bright wall of windows to a deep mahogany desk that matched the one from his office. There he was, Edward Cullen, millionaire bestselling author and creator of the most popular vampire series since _The Vampire Chronicles_. I let out an audible gasp as I stared at him. From the untidy bronze hair on his head to the straight edge of his jaw… he looked even better than the picture in the back of his books.

He was smirking coldly at me, his hands folded on his desk, his eyes running up and down my body. I glanced down and stuttered; I was creating another puddle at my heels and I winced.

"I'm… I'm sorry," I said quickly. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as his smile faltered and his brow furrowed. "I'll clean it up if you'd just… where are your towels?" My voice was barely a whisper and I felt sure, the way he was looking at me, he was going to fire me.

He shook his head slightly but didn't speak. His frown deepened as he pushed back from the desk, standing and causing me to gasp again. He was an impressive height, somewhere over six feet, and lean. Strong and lean, I noted as he strode across the room to me. I couldn't help but stare at the way his muscles glided beneath his shirt, the way his jeans clung snugly along his hips and… downward. I shrank back as he reached an arm out and shut my eyes.

I felt him tug at the brown bag in my hands and I released it, keeping my eyes shut tight.

He laughed then, which made me jump. He sounded warm and soft when he laughed, so far from the sharp and cold exterior he had exuded at his desk. I opened my eyes carefully and felt the tingle of shame in my cheeks as he peered into the bag.

"Excuse me, but I don't see what's so funny," I managed to say in an audible tone.

Mr. Cullen quieted for a moment and offered me an apologetic grin. "I'm sorry Isabella-"

"Bella," I said, correcting him. "Just Bella."

He sighed and ran a large hand through his hair. "Bella… you didn't have to do this," he said, lifting the bag. "I'm not sure what my sister told you but I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "But the binder…" I trailed off, remembering bitterly how thoroughly I had studied Alice's notes over the weekend. Notes Mr. Cullen obviously had _not_ given her.

His eyes widened as he set the breakfast bag down on a table by the door. "Binder?" he asked. "Alice…" He sighed and shook his head. "She worries about me too much," he said. "I appreciate your efforts Bella, truly," he said, reaching his hand up and brushing a stray, damp lock of hair off my face. I shivered involuntarily at his touch, wondering if that was an effect of his skin on mine or my cold, wet clothes.

Mr. Cullen snatched his hand back and clenched it into a fist. He stepped back behind his desk and flipped open his laptop. "I'm not sure what my sister told you," he said, resting himself down heavily in his chair. "But I don't need you as a…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"A personal assistant?" I offered.

"Yes," he agreed. "I don't need… _this_," he gestured to the damp bag on the table.

"I'm sorry-"

"Why?" He stared at me and I tried not to stare directly into his mesmerizing green gaze. He made it difficult to speak coherently when he stared like that.

"You don't… need me then?"

"That's not your fault that Alice is overbearing." He gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't ever apologize for something that's not your fault Bella. Besides, I still need you."

"I'm not sure I understand."

A dark expression crossed his face for a moment as he answered. "I haven't… I can't… I'm having a bit of a block… _creatively_," he explained.

My heart pounded at a glimpse of Mr. Cullen, the tortured writer. All I felt compelled to do at that moment was pull him out of whatever dark place he had drifted to. It was only a glimpse though, a flash of darkness across his face, quickly wiped away.

"I'm sor-"

His head snapped up and he raised his eyebrows at me.

I blushed a furious shade of red and wiped my palms on my skirt. "Right," I mumbled. "Well, Mr. Cullen, I-"

"Edward," he said, smiling genuinely now. "You may call me Edward." I wondered if _Edward_ enjoyed seeing me flustered.

"Edward, I don't see how I can help with that," I said finally.

His gaze flittered to a pile of papers on his desk then unmistakably up my legs. "Oh believe me Bella, I'm sure your presence alone will be inspiring."

I felt the heat creep from my cheeks down my spine and hover wet between my legs. _Yes, Mr. Edward Cullen _does_ enjoy making me flustered_, I thought hotly.

He grinned again, satisfied with his effect on me perhaps. "I'll only require you for dinner, Mondays through Fridays." His explanation distracted me from my arousal momentarily.

"But… _Edward_," I said, my voice shaking slightly with his name. "I was expecting a full time job with… a full time… salary," I stuttered out.

Edward nodded. "Naturally, and you will still receive that," he said. "I'm certain you will still earn your full time salary, even if you're not with me for full time hours."

I swallowed hard and thought back to the binder. All of those tasks and preferences… I would have gladly taken on all of them over this immense task. But when he stared at me, those green eyes pleading in their own silent way, I could only nod.

"I can try then," I said softly, locking myself into something much larger than myself.

A grin stretched across his face then. "Excellent. No need for you to come into the city again tonight," he said, glancing at his watch. "We'll start… tomorrow night, six o'clock?"

I nodded again and took a step back, out of the sunlit room and into the dark hall. "Tomorrow then," I said.

I turned to leave when he called my name again.

"Oh and Bella?" My feet pivoted to face him again, like a gravitational pull.

"Yes?" My voice was scratchy now, my throat far too dry as he gave me a blinding grin and squinted his beautiful eyes at me.

"Wear blue please," he asked softly. "Blue tends to… draw the muse out in me."

"Of course," I said weakly.

I made it to the elevator before my knees gave out. _What had I gotten myself into?_

**PS: The next chapter may take me a little bit longer. The semester is almost over and I'm getting slammed with stress and work. Please be patient! Thank you!**


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